


A Case For Love

by TwoBoys2Love



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Sam, Bottom Sam Winchester, Case Fic, M/M, On a hunt, Soulmates, Top Dean Winchester, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-17
Updated: 2018-10-17
Packaged: 2019-08-03 11:03:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16325033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwoBoys2Love/pseuds/TwoBoys2Love
Summary: Sam and Dean find, what they think, may be a vengeful spirit. A young gay man killed himself years in the past and each year, at the same hotel, someone else commits suicide. But, the case becomes more complex when the reasons behind the suicide become clear. What if you know who your soulmate is ... but you don't admit it to yourself?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you Masja! You rock! :D You are my favorite beta... :D
> 
> Thanks to Huntress79 for the art!

“We just finished a case, Sam. Are you bored or somethin’?” Dean sat on the end of the bed, leaned over, and struggled to pull his boots off.

“No point in not being busy,” Sam muttered. He needed to keep busy. His brain became a minefield when they had too much downtime.

When his boot finally slid off, Dean swore softly under his breath and threw it under the table. “Why were you even looking into this town?”

“It was just something I noticed when I was checking the suicide stats.” Sam shrugged out of his jacket and draped it over the back of one of the chairs at the small table. “Come on, the town's entire population is about seven thousand and you’re telling me that it’s normal that there’s been a suicide once a year in the same motel for the past twenty years?”

“Maybe it’s even shittier than this place,” Dean muttered as he pulled his second boot off.

Even Sam had to admit that their room was shabbier than usual. The carpet was so threadbare the design on it was almost unrecognizable. Every time a stiff wind blew, the windows rattled. The door lock didn’t even work, which didn’t really matter when you were as armed as they were.

“Wait,” Dean said as he tossed his second boot after the first. “Why were you checking suicide stats?”

“It's just one of the things I check from time to time,” Sam said. He paced over to the miniature fridge that was perched beside the TV. The first thing Dean had done the night before was stock the fridge with beer.

Sam opened the fridge and grabbed two bottles. He pushed the door closed with his hip and tossed a beer to Dean.

“ _One_ of the things?” Dean asked as he popped the top of his beer using his ring.

Sam _really_ didn’t want to explain to his brother about the way his thoughts raced when he was alone or when there was too much caffeine in his bloodstream for him to fall asleep at night. He didn’t want to spend his nights trying _not_ to stare at his brother, trying not to… trying not to think about how he felt. It was an ongoing problem.

“Research,” Sam offered. “It’s my thing.”

“Your hobby is checking out death stats?” Dean shook his head and then took a long pull on his beer bottle. He let out a satisfied gasp. “You’re weirder than I thought.”

“Anyway-” Sam said as he sat down at the table. “We should check this out. It’s a definite pattern and it sure as hell makes no sense.”

Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Dean smirked. “Fine. Don’t get pissy. We’ll go in the morning.”

At least they weren’t going to have an argument about it. Sam nodded and swallowed a mouthful of beer. He set the bottle down and slid his laptop closer. The screen blinked to life and the website for a small motel was in the browser.

“Wanna hear more?” Sam asked.

“No. I wanna have a shower and put on some clean clothes and go to the nearest bar,” Dean answered. He unbuttoned his plaid shirt and slid it off his shoulders. He winced as he shrugged it off.

“You okay?” Sam could see there was something wrong. In order for it to register on Dean’s face at all, it was probably very painful.

“That fucker knocked me into a door frame. Think my shoulder popped out of joint for a couple of seconds.” He winced again as he rolled his right shoulder gingerly.

“I’ve got a couple of those Percocet left,” Sam said. Dean had given them to him a while back, but he’d never used them. The pain and aches from hunting gave him something to focus on. Something to focus on other than Dean. 

As Dean stood, he grabbed the bottom of his t-shirt and pulled it off over his head. One of his pecs flexed as he ran a hand over his chest looking for injuries.

Sam let his gaze follow the curves of his brother’s chest, the dusting of hair just above his belt buckle. Even with scars, cuts, and bruises-

“Dude. What? Do I have Ghoul juice on me or something?” Brow furrowed, Dean strained to try and see if there was anything on him.

Sam really needed to be more careful. Sometimes, when he was tired he got a bit careless. “There’s nothing else on you. You should be more careful. I didn’t get anything on me.”

Dean closed the distance between them in less than a second and grabbed Sam in a headlock.

The spicy scent of Dean’s sweat surrounded Sam and his hands snapped up to curve over Dean’s sinewy forearm. “Fuck off,” he growled.

But, Dean was strong. He wasn’t hurting Sam - he’d never do that - well, nothing more than his dignity anyway.

Frustrated, Sam pushed up off the chair and stretched up to his full height.

Slightly shorter than him, Dean had no choice but to let go if he didn’t want to strangle his brother.

Dean’s fingers slipped into Sam’s hair and tousled it before disappearing. “I remember when you didn’t even come up to my shoulder.”

When Sam turned to look at his brother, Dean was already heading to the bathroom. “Better be good water pressure,” he grumbled.

Sam watched as Dean disappeared into the bathroom and kicked the door shut behind him. He sighed and sank back down into the chair again.

Why did his brain have to work the way it did? If Sam could just turn it off, he would gladly. He would give anything not to notice the particular green of his brother’s eyes, the color of the freckles sprinkled all over his body and the way his muscles moved when he stretched.

Yes. He noticed all those things and it was like the worst kind of curse he couldn’t shake free of. But then - the alternative - was trying, once again, to live without Dean. And that just never worked out.

The pipes clanked as the shower turned on and Sam sighed and rubbed at his eyes.

More research.

-=-=-=-

Hitting the road had improved Dean’s mood; he was always cheerier behind the wheel. He was no longer being grumpy about the hunt. The Impala was a cure for most things that soured Dean’s mood. He rolled his window down and took a deep breath of the warm air. “Okay, gimme some details.”

They were about fifty miles closer to the new case and Sam had been considering a nap. “What?”

“The case, Sam. Keep up.”

Sam decided against pointing out that Dean hadn’t been interested at first. He couldn’t even remember what he’d told Dean. “Twenty people in twenty years. they all died in the same hotel.”

“Same room?” Dean asked.

“Nope. It varied.” Sam rubbed at his eyes and turned towards Dean as he searched his memory for the facts. “Two vertical slashes on each wrist. No reason to believe that any of the victims were suicidal.

“Twenty years? They sure as hell haven’t done the same level of investigation every time.” Dean said as he rolled his window down a bit more.

“Nope. But, I’m willing to extrapolate,” Sam answered. “What else? Always the same weekend. Second weekend in September.”

“Were they all alone?”

“What?” As much time as they spent together and there were still moments when Sam didn’t really get how his brother’s mind worked.

“A hotel? Probably weren’t alone,” Dean said.

“Some of them weren’t alone, I wasn’t really paying attention to that on the first read through.”

“Losin’ your research skills there, Sammy. But don’t worry. I’m on the ball.” There was a shit-eating grin on Dean’s face when he looked over at Sam.

There was a possibility that Sam was distracted. He spent a lot of time distracted. That was the reason he tried to focus on research.

 _Dean_. Always a problem.

Sam took a deep breath and tried to focus on the case. “The first one might give us a clue about that,” Sam continued.

“Maybe it’s some kind of jealous husband,” Dean said so casually it was weird.

“Maybe,” Sam agreed. “But, it wasn’t all men. It’s a random mix of people from what I can tell. I didn’t count.”

“Random. Well, everyone cheats.”

“Everyone?” It was exactly the kind of question that Sam should know better than to ask his brother.

“Everyone, Sam.”

Why did Sam do it? “I’ve never cheated.”

“Okay, everyone except you.” Dean shrugged. Then Dean said something that surprised Sam. “Sammy, it’s just not the kind of thing you’d do. It’s one of those things that would eat you up inside.”

His brother was right. Hell, there was a reason why Sam had given up trying to have a relationship. Well, there were a few reasons. “It’s not like you’d cheat.”

Dean snorted.

Sam knew full well that there were few people who were more loyal than his brother. He might not have had a lot of relationships but when he was _with_ someone, he was _with_ them. “No, you wouldn’t.”

“I’m never with anyone long enough to worry about it,” Dean said a little quieter.

They didn’t talk about their relationships. There were a lot of things they didn’t talk about. Sam knew that his brother understood things about him that no one else ever would. It was part of the hunting life and partly being a Winchester.

Deciding it was a good idea to change the subject, Sam returned to the case in his mind. “I read through the limited witness interviews from the first death. The people involved would all be in their late forties now. We might be able to talk to someone.”

“Isn't this a really small town?” Dean asked.

Sam nodded. “Pretty small.”

“They won’t still be there. Towns that small? Towns with a history like this? People all grow up and want to move on.” There was a strange look on Dean’s face, almost as though he was a bit envious.

Shrugging, Sam rolled his head for a few moments to loosen some of the aches in his neck. “I wouldn’t mind growing up in a place like that.”

Dean did a double take and laughed dryly. “I don’t believe you would have stuck around though. You would have still gone off to school.”

“Maybe,” Sam said reluctantly. It was true, school had always been something he needed to do; an escape from thoughts and feelings he didn’t understand. He just didn't like saying that to his brother. There had been more than a few fights over the years about Sam leaving. It was because he’d never been able to tell Dean the whole truth,

“No _maybe_ about it.” Dean sounded so sure of himself. Maybe he did know Sam very well after all.

“Anyway, it’s worth trying to find someone who was there. Right?”

“Yeah. I guess.”

Dean returned his full attention to the road ahead of them. His index finger tapped out the rhythm of the Led Zeppelin song that was playing. After a little while, he reached over and turned up the volume.

It seemed they were done talking.

Sam was okay with that. It’s was easier to sit in silence with Dean than any other soul on the planet. 

-=-=-=-

They’d been in the motel for ten minutes before Dean was kicked back on his bed, watching a bad nineties movie with a beer resting on his thigh.

Sam had other things on his mind. With a small investment of time, he’d been able to hack into the local library database. Obviously, all the deaths had attracted a lot of attention locally. But, apart from some blogs written by amateur ghost hunters, it didn’t seem as though the right kind of hunters had been involved.

It took the better part of the first cheesy movie Dean watched for Sam to come up with a comprehensive list of the deceased.

“You were right,” Sam announced as the credits on _Die Hard_ began to roll.

“I’m always right. What was I right about this time?” Dean smirked as he drained his beer bottle.

 _Just_ for that, Sam decided to be more... precise. “Let me rephrase that. You were _partially_ right.”

Dean made a derisive sounding snort but muted the tv.

“All the people who killed themselves checked in alone but… as far as I can tell they were all meeting with someone.”

“Hookers?”

“What?” Sam shook his head. “No. Well, who knows, but it doesn’t seem like it.”

“So, how am I wrong exactly?”

The smirk on Dean’s face was getting annoying. “They were all alone when they committed suicide and it’s unclear whether all of them had an…. encounter before they died.”

“Encounter?”

Sam nodded. “Yeah. Small town. There weren’t a lot of autopsies done but that’s what it looks like.”

“You mean there wasn’t always a scientific evidence they had been fucking?”

Frowning, Sam looked down at his laptop and clicked the mouse on some random links. “Yeah.”

“Did the deed?”

Sam didn’t have to look up to know his brother was pleased with himself. He could hear it in Dean’s voice. “Sure.”

“Hit a home run.”

“Really?” The tips of Sam’s ears were beginning to burn. He really should be used to his brother.

“Just makin’ sure we’re clear on what’s going on,” Dean said.

“We’re clear,” Sam answered grumpily. He combed his hair back off his face with his fingers and glanced over at Dean. He was right. There was a shit-eating grin on his brother’s face. “Anyway.”

“There’s more?”

Sam took a deep breath. He’d had years of practice ignoring his brother, but it never seemed to get any easier. Maybe, it was impossible to be immune to a sibling. “There’s a witness still living here.”

Dean looked a little more serious. “From one of the early cases?”

“From _the_ early case.” Sam pulled up the article he’d found and skimmed down to the relevant part. “Local resident, Arthur Ketch, was one of the last people to see deceased teammate, Mick Davies.”

“He didn’t move away?”

When Sam looked up, he could see that Dean was a bit puzzled. “Still here. Why?”

“I don’t know,” Dean said. “Somethin’ like that must change the way you live your life.”

“What do you mean?” Sam had a pretty good idea he knew what his brother meant but when Dean was in the mood to talk then Sam always liked to listen.

“They had to be pretty young when this happened.”

Sam nodded. “The team was the high school football team. Probably seventeen or eighteen years old.”

“So, you see one of your teammates end up like that and it’s gotta make you want to live your life. Do something risky. Get away.”

It was a valid point, but Sam couldn't help wondering if there was something else that would keep someone in the small town. He skimmed further down the article. _There it was_. “So, Ketch? Married his high school sweetheart. Captain of the cheerleading squad. Her Dad owns half the businesses left in town. They were married three months after the incident.”

“Huh.” Dean seemed to be studying his beer bottle intently. Sam knew that meant he was thinking about the case.

“You don’t think that… love could make someone do something they didn’t want to do?” Sam knew it was true. He knew it first hand, but he’d never tell his brother that.

“I absolutely think it could, Sam.” There was a strange look on Dean’s face. It was almost a pained expression.

For a moment, Sam found himself wondering if there was something Dean wasn’t telling _him_ for once.

Dean’s beer bottle clunked into the nightstand. “You got an address for this Ketch guy?”

“Yeah. It’s not far from here.”

“Let’s pay him a visit then.”

-=-=-=-

While Sam knocked on the door to the old house, Dean straightened his tie for the hundredth time.

“I hate this thing,” Dean muttered.

“Stop complaining.”

“Sam, I never -”

The door swung open and Sam flipped open his fake I.D. “Arthur Ketch?”

The dark-haired man nodded. His features were sharp, his skin pale under dark stubble.

“Hello. Agent Clifford. This is my partner, Agent Cook. We’re investigating a cold case. Would you mind if we had a word with you?”

The man looked older than his thirty-nine years. Arthur Ketch was the one witness connected to the original death; the only witness to any of the deaths who still lived in town.

“What case?” Ketch asked as his grip on the door tightened.

It wasn’t a great start. “Mick Davies. You were contacted during the original investigation. We’d just like to follow up on some of the details,” Sam said.

“No.” Ketch began to push the door closed but Dean tucked his boot in just in time to stop it.

“Right now, this is a cold case. If you refuse to speak to us, we’ll have to call our Director and get it reopened. _That_ will result in official questioning and will be a hell of a lot more invasive than this.” There was a cool smile on Dean’s face.

Dean could be a little heavy-handed. Wincing, Sam added, "It will only take a few moments.”

Ketch’s dark eyes narrowed and just as he looked about to push the door closed, instead he swung it open and retreated inside.

“Don’t piss him off before we find anything out,” Sam whispered.

“Just using my charm,” Dean said as he tried to push past his brother.

Sam stepped over the threshold first. The air was close, hot and Sam frowned. They followed Ketch down a dark hallway and emerged into a pretty dismal looking living room. There were no indications that anyone else lived at the house. Piles of books and papers were balanced precariously on every flat surface, there were dirty dishes scattered about the room and it clearly hadn’t been dusted in about a decade. Being high school sweethearts may not have been the recipe for a happily-ever-after.

Ketch sat down at the far end of a long dining room table and glared at the Winchesters. “What do you want?”

Dean glanced at Sam and widened his eyes slightly before pulling out a chair and sitting down. Sam followed suit.

“Like my partner said,” Sam began. “We’re looking into a cold case; the death of Mick Davies.”

“He killed himself,” Ketch said flatly.

“That was the suspected cause of death,” Dean said. “But, everyone seemed pretty surprised by that. His friends said that he’d seemed happy, content, in the months leading up to his death.”

“Was that your impression?” Sam asked. There was heaviness on Ketch’s face and his eyes were dark and difficult to read.

“I _wasn’t_ his friend. He didn’t have friends.”

 _Interesting_. “But, he _was_ your teammate.”

“Yeah, he was,” Ketch said as he folded his arms across his chest.

“He hide your jockstrap? Tape your butt cheeks together?” Dean asked. “What happened to team spirit?”

Ketch’s gaze narrowed as he glared at Dean. “We weren’t friends with people like him.”

“Was Mick gay?” The pieces fell into place quickly for Sam. Small town, being different? It didn’t make for a good prognosis.

Ketch moved his gaze slowly towards Sam. “He was. And it made the whole team look bad. He didn’t even _try_ to hide it.”

Sam gritted his teeth. He didn’t like Ketch’s tone, but the entire situation was hitting too close to home. “If you weren’t friends with him, why did you see him at the motel the night he died?”

“Doesn’t your _case_ file tell you that?” Ketch snapped.

Dean sighed. “Just answer the question or this will take twice as long.”

“We had team business to discuss.”

“Team business about how Mick being gay made the rest of you look bad?” Sam asked sharply.

“Team business about how Mick needed to stop being the way he was.”

“Gay,” Sam said flatly. Ketch was beginning to get under Sam’s skin. The world was a shitty enough place without bigots who hated people for something they couldn’t change.

“So, you guys… the team was teaching him a lesson?” Dean’s expression had hardened.

The Winchesters had both read the case notes. There wasn’t a lot but there was bruising on Mick’s body that definitely wasn’t from the guy cutting his wrists.

Ketch’s eyes looked almost sad for a moment before he averted his gaze. “Like I said, it’s a small town.”

“Speaking of which,” Dean said. “You married your high school sweetheart, right?” Dean asked.

Sam was pretty sure Dean’s _good ‘ol boy_ routine wasn’t going to work.

It didn’t.

“I’m divorced. She got our two kids, my truck, all the money and left me this run-down house. Moved to the city. _That_ part of your cold case?” Ketch pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his shirt pocket and lit one. He let out a mucousy cough and seemed to have some trouble breathing.

“Man, you should probably quit smokin’.” Dean sat back and frowned.

“Fuck you,” Ketch growled. “I already have lung cancer. I’m dying anyway. So, what’s the point? You have any other questions?”

“Was Mick buried in the local cemetery?” Dean asked.

“You gonna exhume his body or something?” The expression on Ketch’s face darkened even more. Then a strange half smile appeared on his face.

“What?” Dean glanced at Sam then looked back at Ketch quickly. “No."

“Just curious, it’s not shown online,” Sam said to rescue his brother.

“Hah.” Ketch took another long drag on his cigarette. He coughed again and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Good luck with that. The cemetery is outside the city limits. Paved over it when the Interstate came through here. There’s a memorial garden just off the road.”

Sam nodded. Clearly, he had a bit more research to do. “Doesn’t leave the family much to visit.”

Ketch looked up and met Sam’s gaze. “Mick didn’t have any contact with his family. They moved away, and he stayed here.”

“He lived on his own?” Dean leaned forwards slightly.

“Room above the General Store. He worked there.”

As far as Sam was concerned, Ketch seemed to know an awful lot about Mick for someone who claimed to dislike him. “It isn’t legal for development to pave over an occupied cemetery.” Out of the corner of his eye, Sam could sense the surprised look on his brother’s face. Dean often forgot Sam had been on his way to becoming a lawyer when he’d returned to hunting.

Ketch took another drag off his cigarette and squinted as the smoke crawled up his face like a vine. “You think they cared about the measly ten grand they were fined?”

Sam nodded once and tilted his head slightly. He was familiar with the practice. Saying sorry was always easier and cheaper than getting permission in advance. He pressed his lips together for a few moments. The smell of the cigarette smoke was making him feel a little nauseous. “You know anyone who might have had a reason to hurt Mick?”

“You deaf? This fucking town is so small. Everyone always knows everyone else’s business. Any other stupid questions, or are we done?”

Dean stood and adjusted his jacket as he looked around the room once more. “Sorry for interrupting your spring cleaning.”

Sam scowled at his brother, stood then pushed in his chair. He followed Dean towards the door then turned back at the last moment. He pulled a card out of his inside jacket pocket and set it on the dusty tabletop. “I’m sorry you're ill. If you think of anything else relevant to the case. Call?”

“I won’t,” Ketch said finally.

Sam shrugged a shoulder and strode out of the dismal little house. He couldn’t help taking a deep breath of air once he was outside.

“Charming guy,” Dean muttered once they were at the car. “Can’t imagine why his wife left him.”

Something about the entire situation wasn’t sitting right with Sam. When he been talking to Ketch, he sensed something lurking under the surface. He couldn’t put his finger on it but there was something about the man that just set off Sam’s Hunter radar. Ketch wasn’t telling the truth, but Sam didn’t know what the truth was. 

They walked side by side to the Impala and Sam rested his arms on the roof and looked around.

“What? I know that look,” Dean said. He stopped at the driver's door and peered at Sam across the roof.

“We can’t salt and burn a body we can’t dig up,” Sam said.

“Nope.” Dean looked nonplussed.

“That doesn’t bother you? How do we deal with a spirit we can’t salt and burn?” The whole thing was beginning to unsettle Sam. Sure, it had been his idea to take the case in the first place, but it wasn’t going as smoothly as he might have liked.

“Not the first time we’ve had to figure shit out, Sam. Sometimes, there’s a problem that needs to be solved, sometimes, it’s revenge. Hell, it could be unrequited gay love! We’ve dealt with things like this before.”

They had, Sam knew it, but there was something about the case that was leaving a bad taste in his mouth. It wasn’t just the undisguised disgust that Ketch had when he spoke about Mick Davies; it was more than that. Whatever it was, it continued to elude Sam.

“Get in, we’ll figure it out. I’m brewing a plan already.” Dean grinned, banged his hand on the roof of the car and pulled his door open.

“Great,” Sam muttered to himself.

-=-=-=-

“So, here’s my plan,” Dean had announced soon as they return to the motel room.

Dean’s plans always made Sam a little hesitant. “I can hardly wait.”

As he sat down on the edge of his bed and loosened his tie, Dean rolled his eyes. “Smart ass. Anyway, I’m thinking this spirit has an issue with people hooking up in the hotel. Call it instinct. What we need is some bait, Sam.”

Already, Sam knew he wasn’t going to like the direction of this plan. It had never worked out well for them in the past when they tried to use anyone as bait. “Dean- “

“Sam! You haven’t even heard the plan yet, and I can already see that you’re gonna tell me it’s not gonna work. So, keep your trap shut for long enough to just hear me out.“ Dean had that older brother look on his face, the one that meant he was probably tired and had had enough and wasn’t willing to humor his little brother anymore.

Fortunately, Sam knew when to pick his battles. He caught hold of the loose end of his tie and pulled it free from under his collar, tossed it on the table and then sat down on one of the rickety chairs. He nodded once, shrugged his shoulders and tried not to look too unhappy.

The expression on Dean’s face clearly indicated his disgust with the fact that Sam was just tolerating him. Oh, the joys of working with your brother.

“Fine. Tell me your plan.”

“I go to that drinkin’ hole in town and find myself a lovely young woman-”

“Oh, for fuck sakes.” Sam couldn’t help himself.

“What? You jealous?”

The smirk on Dean’s face was full strength and, for the briefest moment, Sam’s heart forgot how to beat. Relief flooded over him when he remembered there was _no_ way Dean could know how Sam felt about him. If Sam were good at anything, it was keeping the secrets that he needed to keep from his brother. There weren’t many of them, but they were big. “We don’t even know what’s going on yet, Dean.”

“Oh come _on_ , Sam. You know as well as I do, that this has something to do with that poor kid. And, it’s not like this isn’t something I wouldn’t normally do!”

“Oh, I know _that_ ,” Sam answered a little too bitterly.

“Okay. What’s crawled up your ass today?” Dean unbuttoned his dress shirt and tugged it free from his pants.

Tearing his gaze away from his brother’s chest, Sam pressed his thumb and forefinger hard into his eyes. “I just. I just don’t think it’s safe to toss a rod in the water when we don’t know if we’re fishin’ for a trout or a shark.”

Dean’s eyebrows lifted slightly. “Do I go for the fishing metaphor or the rod joke,” he muttered.

There were still times when Sam wondered why he even _tried_ to have a serious conversation with his brother. “Fine, you wanna get your rocks off? You go for it.”

“Are you hungry or something? Didn’t get enough sleep? Not had enough caffeine? Need a nap?” Slipping his shirt off his shoulders, Dean grinned. He balled up the shirt and wiped it across his chest before tossing it onto the bed behind him.

All of Sam’s instincts told him that Dean’s plan was a bad idea. But why? Yeah, it may be true that they didn’t know what they were hunting. But, there had always been times when they’d jumped in before they knew all the details.

Sam took a few deep breaths and ran his hand through his hair. “It’s getting to me.”

Partial truths were always a good idea.

“The first kid?” Dean frowned and leaned forward slightly.

“Yeah,” Sam answered, thankful for the reprieve. “It doesn’t add up. Yeah, the kid was gay and that’s tough in any small town. But, he had to have been used to fighting for everything.”

“Maybe, it just got to be too much for him,” Dean said in a quieter voice. Dean cared about people, he always had. Despite his gruff exterior, Dean’s heart was nearly always with the underdog.

“I don't know,” Sam said. “It’s just a gut feeling, I guess. I don’t think we got the entire story from Ketch.”

“We can’t do much about what may or may not have happened, Sam. But, I’d put money on the fact that we can draw this spirit out and get more information if nothing else.” We can have this wrapped in a couple days and get out of here.” Dean scratched at a scab on his shoulder and frowned.

“I think this is a bad idea,” Sam muttered. He really didn’t need to say it again. He’d already made it pretty clear, but there were times when he couldn’t help trying to convince Dean to change his mind.

“You worried I’m gonna off myself, Sam? Not gonna happen.” Dean flashed a confident smile at his brother.

“Don’t joke about shit like that. You don’t know what happened to any of these people.” Exasperated, Sam bit down on his bottom lip to prevent saying anything he would regret.

“You’re forgetting my secret weapon,” Dean exclaimed. “None of those other people had _you_ , Sam. I can always count on you to make sure nothing too shitty happens to me.”

“Right,” Sam murmured. He wished he was even ten percent as confident as his brother was.

“You just find somewhere else to be tonight, little brother.” Dean grinned. “But, keep your phone on.”

Because he knew he couldn’t say anything that wouldn't sound bitter, Sam just stared.

“What now?” Dean asked as he stood and unbuckled his belt. “You’re not getting all morally superior on me, are ya?”

 _Morally superior_. Now, there was ground that Sam definitely couldn’t get solid footing on. He may have become a genius at hiding his feelings from his brother, burying them under the everyday, but they were still there. It didn’t matter if Sam didn’t acknowledge how he felt, there were times when it ached; when _he_ ached. “What if something happens to _her_?”

“You’re smarter than that, Sam. In each case, the person who died was the one stayin’ in the room, right?” As if to emphasize his point, Dean tapped his index finger to his bare chest.

There was a scar just beside the tip of Dean’s finger. It was from a hunt in Georgia, demon with a machete. Sam would be the only person other than Dean, who would know that. He should be the only one with the right to run his fingers over it. “Just be careful.”

“I’m Mr. Safety,” Dean said as he smiled. “I’m gonna shower and head out. Fun, Sam. I finally get to have some fun.”

The bathroom door slammed shut behind Dean and Sam sighed.

-=-=-=-

Sam paid for a second room in the motel. When he realized it was right next door to the original room, he decided to walk into town.

As small as the town was, he figured he could probably find some decent food. Anything was better than potentially hearing anything through the motel room wall. There were some kinds of torture he didn’t want to subject himself to more than once.

By the time Sam was halfway through a plate of pasta, Dean sent him a text.

_**D** : success!!! have a good night, Sammy. I know I will!!!!_

As if the text weren’t bad enough, Dean had added the eggplant emoji.

Sam’s fork clattered onto his plate when he let go of it. It wasn’t like there had been a real possibility that Dean wouldn’t find someone. All he had to do was smile, the kind of smile that made his nose scrunch up and emphasized the crow's feet at the corners of his eyes. When Dean smiled like that Sam’s chest felt tight and his breath came a little faster.

Sam cleared his throat and tried to direct his thoughts back to the case. The case: he would work the case all night and just keep his mind off what Dean was doing. It was worth a shot.

There were some questions that Sam had thought of after they’d seen Ketch. Gaps in the information made Sam’s brain hurt. He pushed his plate aside and pulled the laptop closer, so it was easier to see the scans of the original case files.

When Sam’s phone rang, he thought about ignoring it. The last thing he wanted was to have a discussion with his brother about what he would be doing that evening. But, when he looked down at the screen, it was an unfamiliar number.

He picked up his phone and pressed it to his ear.

“Hello?”

“Hello,” said a gruff voice.

Instinct kicked in and Sam ran over the voices in his mind. “Mr. Ketch?” 

For a few moments, there was nothing but silence and Sam thought he’d been disconnected. Then he heard movement and slurred speech. “You. I lied to you.”

It sounded as though Ketch was drunk and Sam realized that, if he was careful, he just might get a lot more information. “I figured. Some things are hard to talk about.”

“Hard,” Ketch murmured into the phone. “Yes, things are hard.”

“Maybe I should come over and you can tell me what you need to get off your chest,” Sam suggested. He held his phone in place with his shoulder, pulled out his wallet and tossed some bills on the table.

“Mhmm.” Ketch began one of his coughing fits and then it sounded like he dropped the phone.

“Fuck,” Sam muttered as he slid out of the restaurant booth.

It would only take him a few minutes to get to Ketch’s house on foot and he wanted to strike while the iron was hot.

-=-=-=-=

Ketch’s door was ajar when Sam arrived, so he nudged it open and listened. There was music coming down the hall and it looked as though there were lights on. “Ketch? It’s Agent Clifford… Sam.”

There was a thump from the general direction of the living room and Sam flipped his jacket open slightly, reached back to touch the butt of his colt then headed down the hall. “Ketch?”

As he emerged into the stuffy living room, he found himself wondering if Ketch had even moved since the last visit.

A haze of smoke hung in the warm air and there were a half a dozen or so empty beer bottles on the table.

“You’re here for the story,” Ketch said weakly.

Moving slowly, Sam headed to the table and pulled out a chair. The moment he was sitting, Ketch slid a beer towards him.

“Drink with me.”

Sam nodded and twisted the top off the beer then set it down in front of him. “What’s the occasion?”

When Ketch looked up, his eyes were glassy and tired looking. His cheeks were ruddy and his lips pale. The ashtray in front of Ketch was overflowing with cigarette butts and the smell of it was overwhelming.

“You and I are… we are celebrating the truth.” Ketch set his beer down too hard then fumbled with his cigarettes until he managed to get one out of the package.

“And what _is_ the truth?” Sam kept his hand on the beer bottle and leaned forwards slightly.

“I was with Mick,” Ketch said so softly it was almost inaudibly.

“When he died?”

“No. I Mean. I was sleeping with him. More ... really.”

The pieces of the puzzle began to shift again. “And you kept it secret.”

Ketch nodded. He cleared his throat then leaned back in his chair as he lit his cigarette. He squinted through the tendrils of smoke that spiraled up from his cigarette. “‘Course. Captain of the football team? Even in a shithole like this, that was special. People thought I would _be_ someone, play ball for some big city team, make a ton of money.”

Nodding, Sam pushed his beer to the side and leaned on the table. “How long?”

“It started when we were freshmen. By… the time he died, we were meeting at the motel whenever we could.” Ketch took a long drag off his cigarette then tapped it against the rim of the ashtray.

Sam narrowed his gaze as the smoke curved towards him. “Must have been hard in a place this size.”

For a few moments, Ketch closed his eyes, a slight smile crept onto his lips. “Worth it.”

“Why did you go with the team that night?”

When Ketch opened his eyes, he looked straight into Sam’s. “They figured out he was seeing someone. His face gave it away. He got overconfident. He was… he was happy. Stupid fuck was too…” Ketch coughed for a while then took another drag on his cigarette. “He was the opposite of me; he was good, kind. He was honest.”

“He didn’t tell them about you.”

Ketch shook his head and put his cigarette out. “Didn’t say a word. Not even when things got rough. He didn’t even look at me. Not the entire time.”

Sam took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. It was a lot of guilt to live with. “You were young.”

“So was he,” Ketch snapped. He pulled a piece of folded paper out from under the ashtray. Sam hadn’t even noticed it. “He mailed this to me before… he did it.”

Tapping his fingers on the paper, Ketch just looked at it for a while, then he unfolded it carefully. It looked fragile, as though it had been read hundreds of times.

When Ketch began to read his voice trembled.

“Hey. I never thought I would write something like this, but I’m tired. Every day, I’m on pins and needles, waiting. I wonder, will today be the day you touch my hand in the hall at school? Will you smile at me across the parking lot? Will I see you with Jo, with her tucked under your arm as you walk together?”

“You told me that you thought we were soul mates. You said that we were meant to be together. There were so many things you said that I believed. I trusted you.”

Ketch’s voice wavered, and he cleared his throat. 

Things were beginning to become clearer to Sam. _Jesus_. He’d had his suspicions about Ketch, but the letter was damning.

Ketch wiped a tear from his cheek and continued to read. “I can’t do this anymore. When I heard that you were engaged to Jo it felt like my heart split in two. How did you think I would fit into that life? Or did you? After all this time were you going to just move on from me? From us?”

“You have to have courage, Arthur, and I see now that you’re not strong enough. We _are_ meant to be together. I feel it in my bones. Every part of me longs to be with you when we’re apart. But, you found a way to put that aside.”

“I love you, Arthur. I always have. I know you love me, but I can’t live with you choosing to turn your back on what we have. You should have been strong enough to choose us.”

Ketch let the letter fall from his fingers and it settled on the table. 

“You married Jo? Even with the way you felt?”

Gaze narrowing, Ketch squared his shoulders. “Easy to sit there and criticize. You didn’t live in this place. You didn’t watch Mick get shoved into lockers, get beaten… that last night. You don’t know what it’s like to be ashamed of how you feel.”

Sam looked down at the beer in front of him. He did know a bit about it, but he wasn’t in a sharing mood. He couldn’t understand why Ketch had made the decisions he had. “Couldn't you have gone somewhere together? Just gotten away from here?”

“You make it sound so easy,” Ketch snapped. “Could you do it? Could you speak out in spite of everyone thinking that you were wrong? That you were fucked in the head? Or would you just hide from …”

 _Hide from the love of your life_ , Sam thought to himself.

Ketch sank back into his chair and sighed. His breathing sounded labored and phlegmy. “I chose wrong.”

All of the things that Ketch had said, the reports he’d read, the facts of the case all solidified in Sam’s mind. 

“He tried to phone me that night. I was with Jo. I went straight to her.”

Sam stood so quickly he caught his hip on the table. The ache of pain only sharpened his resolve. Dean was at the motel with a woman who was really fucking unlikely to be his soul-mate. “I need that letter.”

Ketch looked up with bleary eyes and shrugged a shoulder.

Sam snatched the paper off the table and jammed it into his pocket. Before he was even aware of it, he was calling Dean. When the call went straight to voicemail, Sam let out a frustrated growl.

“Stop everything,” he commanded. “It’s dangerous. I have more information.”

He ended the call and opened another app to check Dean’s location. He was at the motel.

Sam darted down the hallway, out the front door and hit the road at a full out run.


	2. Chapter 2

Sam didn’t wait for a sound from within the room at the motel before jamming his key into the lock. He burst through the door, chest heaving, hair plastered to his damp cheeks. “Dean!”

Dean was lying on his side, checking his phone one moment, then standing by the bed naked the next. His gun had appeared out of nowhere and was pointed at Sam’s chest until he recognized his brother. “What the _fuck_ , Sam.?”

There was a petite woman on the bed with the quilt drawn up to her neck. She looked terrified, but Sam had never cared less in his life.

“Get the _fuck_ out of here,” Sam growled at the woman.

She glared at Sam, tossed her long blonde hair back over her shoulders and looked pointedly at Dean.

“Jesus _Christ_ , Sam. _You_ get out of here,” Dean muttered. He set his gun down on the side table and picked his jeans up off the floor so he could step into them.

Sam strode to the side of the bed and began to gather up, what looked like the woman’s clothing. “Go. Get dressed and get out of here. Please.”

The blonde’s expression softened, and she peered up at Sam. “Oh honey. Have I gotten in the middle of a lover’s spat here?”

Momentarily confused, Sam shook his head and glanced at Dean. When he realized what the woman meant he took a steadying breath. “He’s my brother. We need to talk. And _you_ need to leave,” Sam said. “Now.”

“This better be good,” Dean muttered as he buttoned his jeans. “Lucy, I’m sorry-”

“It’s Lila,” the blonde answered. “And, I’m not sure I want to be involved in whatever is going on here.” Lila made a point of dropping the quilt while she swung her legs out of the bed.

Sam suddenly found himself standing in front of a naked woman and he averted his gaze quickly.

Dean padded around the bottom of the bed and bent to retrieve Lila’s bag from the floor. “How ‘bout I call you tomorrow?”

Pulling her short skirt up over her slender hips, Lila smirked at Dean. “You were good darlin’, but I think you have some issues.”

“No issues here,” Dean said quickly.

“You don’t know the half of it, Lila,” Sam murmured. He headed to the bathroom and grabbed one of the hand towels to wipe the sweat off his face. That was when it dawned on him that he was too late.

Dean had already slept with _Lila_ , so the wheels were already in motion.

Sam heard the sound of the door closing and thought it was probably safe to emerge from the bathroom.

There was a foul look on Dean’s face. He was standing at the foot of the bed, hair tousled and his cheeks ruddy. His hands were clenched into fists at his sides. “Okay, Sam. Start talking so I can decide whether or not to punch you.”

“I talked to Ketch. Things aren’t what we thought. I tried to get here in time to stop you.”

“Well, you stopped round two.” Dean almost smiled, then his gaze darkened again. “So? What?”

“They were involved. Ketch thought they were soulmates. They’d been seeing each other secretly for three years.”

“And?” Dean ran his hand over his head and let out a frustrated groan. “We knew there was more going on. Why the hell did it suddenly become an emergency?”

“Listen to me,” Sam snapped “Mick sent a letter. Ketch didn’t turn it in to the police. He _did_ kill himself but it was because of what Ketch said.”

Still frowning, Dean sat down on the end of his bed and sighed. “Okay. Vengeful spirit it is.”

“It’s more than that, I think.” Sam paced across the room and sat down on the end of the other bed. “It was the tone of the letter. He blamed Ketch for them not being together and he just couldn’t take it anymore. It was _Ketch_ who said they were soulmates in the first place - and then - he just couldn’t do it.” As he spoke, Sam wrangled the letter out of his pocket. He spread it flat on his thigh and then held it out to Dean.

As Dean read, Sam rubbed at his forehead to try and relieve the tension that was building and giving him a headache. "I think it’s… okay. Think back over all the cases. They were all found alone but the evidence and interviews suggested that they were meeting someone. They were waiting for someone who didn’t show, or maybe someone they fought with. Someone who was their soulmate. They were meant to be together, but it didn’t work out.”

Dean shrugged and rubbed a hand across his chest. He set the letter down on the bed. “Well, then I’m probably in the clear, Sam. I’m pretty sure I’m not supposed to live happily ever after with Lucy-”

“-Lila.”

“- And I’m also pretty fuckin’ sure I don’t have a soulmate.”

Sam looked down at his boots as a dull ache began to throb in his chest. It was fucked up, but he could _feel_ the way that hurt was trying to worm its way into his joints. There was still some stupid, little boy, part of him that wanted Dean to say that he was the most important person in his life.

_Soulmates share a heaven._

“Dean, c’mon. Everyone has a… someone. What about Cassie? Lisa?” Sam threw his arms up in frustration. “You were in deep with both of them. You telling me you don’t think you were meant to be with one of them?”

A strange expression flitted across Dean’s face. “I don’t. I don’t believe in soulmates. And. And. Why the fuck are we even talking about this? You don’t even know if that’s got anything to do with it.” Dean shook his head and stood so he could go straight over to the pint-sized refrigerator. He nudged the door open with his knee and grabbed a beer.

“Dean. I have a feeling about all this-” Sam’s shoulders were tense, his jaw clenched. All those senses that had been honed over the years were sending adrenaline flooding into his veins.

Laughing, Dean lifted his beer bottle to his mouth. He paused and looked as though he was going to say something then winced. “Think I might have pulled somethin’.”

Dean did a double take when he looked over at his brother. “Uh, Sam.”

When Sam followed his brother’s gaze, he ended up looking down at his own hands. There was blood trickling down his palms.

“What the fuck?” As Sam stood, he looked down at his wrists. Blood began to pool in his palms immediately and he fumbled with the sleeves on his jacket.

“Sammy? What did you do?” Edgy tension bit off the words Dean spoke.

Blinking, Sam shrugged out of his jacket. “I didn’t. I didn’t do anything. I spoke to Ketch.” Once Sam was able to look down at his bare wrists he could clearly see a vertical slash down each one. A dull throb of pain settled in each arm as he stood there staring at the wounds.

Dean swore and darted into the bathroom only to return in moments with a couple of towels.

“This isn’t what’s supposed to happen,” Dean said gruffly as he wrapped the first towel around Sam’s left wrist.

The weight of it all was beginning to press down on Sam. At the same time, he couldn’t help being relieved that Dean seemed to be okay. “Are you alright?”

Dean paused a moment to glare at Sam then began wrapping the towel around his brother’s right wrist. “I’m not the one bleeding all over the place.”

Still frowning, Sam ran over things in his mind. It shouldn't be him. He wasn’t the one who’d even been _in_ the motel room. “This is wrong. I don’t understand.”

Dean tugged Sam back towards the end of the bed and made him sit down. “Okay. Walk me through this again. The letter made you think it was about... soulmates?”

It was hard for Sam to look away from the red blooms that were appearing on both the towels.

Dean spun and snatched up the letter from the bed.

Sam fumbled with the towels as he tried to stem the flow of blood. _Jesus Christ._ He was going to bleed to death right there in a shitty motel room.

“Hey!”

The urgency in Dean’s voice snapped Sam back to the moment. He stared up at Dean, nodded once and took a deep breath. “Ketch said, he said. Mick wrote that Ketch had said they were soulmates. It was a real relationship, Dean. It meant something to _both_ of them.”

“Right.” Dean scanned the wrinkled page he was holding. “The. The. Yeah, _You told me that you thought we were soulmates. You said that we were meant to be together. There were so many things you said that I believed. I trusted you._ ”

“Right,” Sam said quickly. “Mick believed him. He was. He was angry as hell... and hurt.” Sam winced as a fresh stab of pain slid up his arms. He leaned forward to try and put more pressure on his wounds. When he glanced down, he could see that the blood was soaking through. “Dean?”

When Dean saw the color of the towels, he rushed over to the bed and took a knee in front of Sam. “What the _hell_ is going on, Sam? We need to do something.”

As Dean spoke, he pressed down hard on his brother’s wrists. “Put that big brain of yours to work, Sammy. Why is this happening?”

It was dangerous territory for Sam. He had his theories, but everything seemed to be the opposite of what he’d expected. “Dean, I don’t know. The victims. They were all _in_ the motel.”

“So are you, Sam.” Dean scowled as he adjusted the dampening towels.

“But, _I_ didn’t do anything. _You_ did.” Pain was creeping up Sam’s arms and he squeezed his eyes shut for a few moments.”

“This is getting worse. _Fuck_ , Sam.”

When Sam opened his eyes, Dean was gone. He emerged from the bathroom door with an even larger towel.

Sam began to unwrap the towels and was surprised at the amount of blood.

“Jesus, it’s worse than I thought.” Dean knelt down and tried to wipe some of the blood away.

There were now two gaping wounds in each of Sam’s wrists. “What the hell is happening?”

Obviously, sensing the building fear in Sam’s voice, Dean looked up and smiled slightly. “Okay. Just relax, Sam. We can figure this out. We’ve figured out worse than this. Breathe and… think.”

Sam blew out a long breath as Dean re-wrapped his wrists. “It has to be something in the letter. It _has_ to be about the way they felt.”

Dean wrapped the towel in a tight figure-eight around his brother’s wrists, effectively binding them together. “What’s different about you? I’m the one who picked someone up. Maybe it was never about that?”

Frowning, Sam stared at his brother’s worried face. “Obviously, you didn’t do anything wrong.”

“And you did?”

The grip that Dean had on the towel was tight and Sam could feel the wounds throbbing. “No. I - All I did was eat dinner and talk to Ketch.”

“What did you eat?”

“Really?” Sam glared. “The spirit isn’t pissed off ‘cause I had pasta.”

“I’m grasping at straws here, Sam. It's not that you went to see Ketch, because I did that as well. So - what the fuck is it?”

Sam shook his head. For the first time in a very long time - he had no idea what to do.

“What about the soulmate thing?” Dean asked.

“What?”

“You said. In the letter, Mick said that Ketch was the one who first said they were soulmates.”

“He did.” There were unwanted thoughts needling their way into Sam’s mind.

“So, maybe it’s about that.” Dean’s expressions softened. “You. You always felt guilty about Jess.”

Sam’s eyes widened and he recoiled slightly. “This isn’t about Jess.”

The look of frustration on Dean’s face was growing. “Don’t just dismiss everything I say. You were with Jess a long time before…”

 _Before_. Before Dean showed up and Sam was reminded of how difficult it was to say _no_ to his brother. The memory was still clear in his mind. They’d stood in the darkness of the living room staring into each other's eyes. All the _wrong_ that Sam had managed to shove into the dark recesses of his mind had come crashing back home that night.

He’d loved Jess in his way, not as much as she deserved but more than he had ever expected to be capable of. But, Dean had never been far from Sam’s thoughts. It was because Dean had _always_ been the one.

“Sammy!” Dean’s voice sounded a little frantic and Sam felt himself being shaken. “Sam! Stay with me, buddy. We need to figure this out.”

The room spun a little when Sam lifted his gaze to his brother’s worried eyes. “Maybe. Maybe you can just stop the bleeding.”

It felt like it should make sense, but Sam could tell by his brother’s expression that it didn’t.

“Sam.” Dean squeezed Sam’s wrists over the towels. “Focus. What was the most important thing in Mick’s letter?”

Focusing on Dean’s gaze, Sam tried to think back over the letter. “Soulmates. He told. Ketch said they were meant to be together, but he… wasn’t brave enough to do it.”

Nodding, Dean swore softly and let go of Sam’s wrists so he could get settled beside him on the same bed. He adjusted the towel, but it seemed almost pointless. The towels were soaked through. Large red splotches had bloomed on the clean one and Sam felt his heart beat a little faster as panic nipped at his heels. “It’s not going to stop.”

“Think!” Dean ordered in his _big brother_ voice. He snatched his shirt up off the bottom of the bed and wrapped it over the towels, knotted the sleeves together so tightly that Sam winced. “Why was Mick so angry?”

“Ketch knew they were meant to be together.” The two men were soulmates, but Ketch didn’t do anything about it. Just like Sam. Sam let his eyes close for a few moments. He was tired, the wounds on his arms were throbbing and it was getting harder to concentrate.

“Fuck, Sam. Soulmate? Who? Who were you meant to be with? Jess?”

Sam smiled slightly. He’d only shared a heaven with one person. _Special cases… soulmates shared a heaven_ , Ash had told them, and Sam had been afraid to look at Dean. Dean hadn’t said a word; he’d never mentioned it again, so Sam had tried to forget it.

“Talk to me!” Dean shifted closer to Sam and gripped his shoulders. His fingers dug _hard_ into Sam’s muscles. “Ruby? You can’t fuckin’ think it was that black-eyed bitch.”

Sam shook his head and regretted it instantly when the room began to swim. “No. I. No. There’s someone. Dean, I can’t.”

Dean’s gaze narrowed, and he shook Sam slightly. “There’s someone? You can’t what?”

All the systems in Sam’s body were beginning to slow down and the strange thing was that it wasn’t unpleasant. His heart was fluttering rather than beating strongly. His thoughts were less hurried, sifting between his memories. _Soulmates share a heaven._ “I remember.”

“What, Sam?” Dean slid his hands over his brother’s cheeks and tried to get Sam to look at him.

 _Those green eyes._ They were a huge part of the problem, always had been. When Dean looked at Sam, it made him feel like he belonged somewhere. “I had to leave. It wasn’t Jess. She just understood. I couldn’t tell him.”

“Tell who, Sammy?”

Jess was so sweet and the polar opposite of Dean. Sam loved her because she wasn’t his brother and she seemed to know that Sam was wounded. She must have known that Sam had left part of himself with his brother when he’d left him behind.

“Please, Sammy. Tell me.”

Only Dean called him Sammy. “It’s wrong to want him,” Sam murmured.

He felt his muscles getting weaker and the room slid sideways as he felt himself being pulled into a strong embrace.

“Who is he, Sam? It’s okay, tell me,” Dean said into Sam’s hair. “There’s nothing you can’t tell me.”

“Dean.” He was _right_ there, but Sam couldn’t lift his arms to reach him.

“I’m here, Sam. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

“I can’t love Dean. He’ll hate me.” The words felt like they were getting stuck in Sam’s throat. He couldn’t live with Dean hating him, that was always the problem. It would be worse than living with a secret for his entire life. But all that comforting, soft, darkness was lingering so close that Sam could sense it.

“Me? Sam?”

Sam felt himself rocking back and forth slowly and he turned his face into the firm warmth of the person holding him. He breathed in a familiar scent and felt the tension leaving his body. “It’s always been Dean.” _He’s my soulmate._

Everything drifted further away from Sam. He wasn’t sure, but he thought he might have heard Dean calling out to him from far off in the distance. He felt safe, he felt warm and he wasn’t afraid. He should be… at least he thought he should, but he felt as though he was where he needed to be, the place he’s been searching for.

Black waves lapped at the edges of Sam’s world and spiraled in on him as he slipped below the surface.

-=-=-=-

Sam’s eyelids felt like they were made out of rock. His cheek was itchy, but his arms felt like they were a hundred miles away from his face.

He blinked slowly, and the room became a bit clearer. Sam’s gaze found Dean. He was sitting on the edge of the other bed. The room looked familiar, but there had been so many motel rooms. Dean was the only real constant in Sam’s life.

“Sam?”

The bed dipped at Sam’s hip. He tried to lift his arms but they were anchored to the bed by gravity. He tried to speak and his throat ached. What the _hell_ had he been doing?

“Here.”

Cool glass settled against Sam’s bottom lip and he was thankful when water slid down his throat. he took a few big gulps and then the bottle was gone.

Sam’s gaze settled on his brother’s face. Worry was etched into Dean’s brow and there were dark circles under his eyes. “What happened?”

“What d’you remember?” Dean set the bottle down on the nightstand then looked down at his hands.

What _did_ Sam remember? The case. They were on a case. Suicides at the motel. They weren’t sure what was happening. An image of Dean climbing out of bed slammed into Sam’s mind. _Right._ He’d interrupted Dean, tried to save him from a vengeful spirit.

 _Suicide._ Sam tried once more to lift his arms from his sides, but they felt like dead weights. When he looked down, all he could see were the fresh-looking bandages that were snugly wrapped around his arms. _Oh God._

Everything was blurred around the edges; Sam’s memories were slippery and elusive. Had he said it out loud? He had said it out loud. He had told Dean the one thing he had kept to himself for years. “Dean? I’m so sorry.”

Dean continued to stare for a while, then he closed his eyes and shook his head. “There’s water there, pain pills if you need ‘em, a sandwich. I need some air.” As he stood, Dean looked around until he spotted his jacket.

“Wait! What happened? Mick-”

Still not making eye contact, Dean spoke softly. “You stopped bleeding as soon as you said it.”

“Said-”

“-yeah. The thing you hadn’t told me all this fucking time.” Dean didn’t wait for Sam’s response.  
Jacket on, keys hanging off one finger, Dean paused at the door. He looked back at Sam over his shoulder.

“Are you coming back?” Sam couldn't help asking. It wasn’t a question he’d had to ask his brother very often over the years.

A hurt expression slid onto Dean’s face and he turned his gaze back towards the door. He dropped his head until his forehead thumped against the door.

Sam’s heart was pounding as he lay there on the bed. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from his brother.

Dean reached up and rubbed his thumb along his bottom lip. “I don’t know what I’m gonna do, Sam.”

“Okay.”

What else could he say? Honestly, Sam had expected far worse.

The door opened and closed and then Dean was gone. The Impala’s engine roared to life and Sam listened to it until it faded away in the distance.

“Fuck.”

-=-=-=-

Sam didn’t know what to expect. No one knew Dean better than he did, but the game had changed completely.

Sam just laid in bed for a long time, staring at the ceiling. It wasn’t until his arms started to ache that he decided to try and get up. He felt stiff and sore, and a little dizzy when he sat up. It wasn’t surprising considering how much blood he’d lost.

He downed a bottle of water and decided to have a look at his arms. He unraveled the bandages to find two rows of tiny, neat stitches on each wrist. The skin was red and angry looking, and it hurt when Sam flexed his fingers. Dean had done a good job, which wasn’t surprising considering the number of times he’d had to stitch Sam up.

_Dean._

Every time Sam thought about what had happened, he felt a little ill. Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore, got up and had a shower.

The shower felt good. Sam tried to keep his stitches out of the water, but he still had to pat them dry. By the time he was dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, he was exhausted.

He’d suffered blood loss in the past and knew it would be a while before he was a hundred percent. He’d have a lot of time to think back over what he’d done.  
The rest of Sam’s day was a strange combination of fitful sleep and anxious waking moments. Each time he opened his eyes to find an empty motel room, he felt fear dig its claws a little deeper into him.

What had he expected? Dean was probably driving as far from Sam as he could.

In the fading sunlight that crept through the worn curtains, Sam looked down at his wrists. The wounds were beginning to look a little better, but it would take time. It may have been better if he had said nothing at all. What if he had just let himself bleed out? It wouldn’t have been a bad death compared to some that faced hunters.

The familiar rumble of an engine interrupted Sam’s thoughts. He sat down on the side of his bed, hoping to look less like he’d been doing little other than waiting for his brother to return. Relief left him feeling a little weak at the knees. At least, Dean had come back even if it wasn’t to stay. At least Sam might have one chance to try and explain.

_Explain._

_That_ was _impossible._

The engine quieted, a car door squeaked open then closed.

Sam held his breath when he didn’t hear footsteps right away. Then finally, he heard his brother’s familiar gait, boots scuffing the asphalt.

The door opened and Dean walked in. He looked tired. His skin was sallow, his eyes were red-rimmed and his shoulders were hunched forward.

Sam just stared as Dean closed the door behind him and stood there for a few moments with his back to Sam. He could feel his heart racing, blood rushing to his cheeks as he felt the weight of his truth all around him. “Dean-”

“- Did you end up with Ruby because of… _this_?” Dean turned slowly, seeming reluctant to look at his brother. “Because of the way you felt.”

Whenever Dean mentioned Ruby’s name, Sam felt bile trying to claw its way up his throat. The demon had found Sam when he was rock bottom, without Dean, and completely lost. She’d known exactly when Sam was at his weakest, and that was when she had struck.

Sam shook his head almost imperceptibly. He swallowed, his mouth dry and his throat tight. “I. After I lost you, things were bad. I told you most of it, but, it was rock bottom for me. I didn’t even want to be alive.”

“And she made you feel alive?” Brows furrowed, Dean clenched his fists at his sides.

Sam shook his head again. “No. But the… demon blood made me care less about how fucked up I was.”

“Fucked up,” Dean repeated softly.

Sam couldn’t read the expression on his brother’s face. Mostly, Dean looked sad and, Sam supposed that should come as no surprise. “I know how wrong this is. I can - I’ve always kept it to myself _because_ I knew I never wanted this to... to…”

“To what, Sam?” Dean’s voice was tight with anger. “You were going to die to keep this from me.”

For an instant, Sam was confused, then he realized what his brother was saying. “You’re angry because I didn’t want to tell you?”

“Yes!” Dean yelled so loudly that Sam flinched back instinctively. “Jesus _Christ_ , Sam. Haven’t we lost enough already? You were willing to just let me hold onto you while you bled out. I was covered in your blood, Sam. My _brother’s_ blood. Do you have any idea what that felt like?”

In his mind’s eyes, Sam could picture being bent over Dean’s body, looking down at the Hellhound’s claw marks that had rent his flesh open. He absolutely knew what it felt like to watch your tears drop down and mingle with your brother’s blood. “Dean, please just-”

“You have _lost_ the right to ask me for anything,” Dean snapped. He paced over to the fridge, yanked the door open and grabbed a beer.

Sam kept his lips pressed tight together so he stayed quiet. There were only questions racing around in his mind. What now? Where do we go from here? Do you hate me? He felt like a clumsy kid all over again.

Pacing towards the bed, Dean took a long pull off his beer. He stopped in front of Sam and sighed. “You’ve never believed me when I’ve told you nothing and no one comes before you.”

The words felt strange and unfamiliar to Sam. Oh yes, he’d heard Dean say it before, but why would he truly believe it? With everything he had pulled over the years, it was just a case of big brother thinking he had to take care of little brother. There always seemed to be messes for Dean to clean up, wrongs for Dean to right.

Sam cleared his throat. “I know Dad told you to take care of me, but-”

“- don’t you _fucking_ dare,” Dean snapped. “Do you really think that has anything to do with us anymore?”

“Us?” Unsteady, Sam gripped the quilt beside him with both hands.

Dean paced back across the room restlessly then stopped and leaned against the wall. “I’m still here. We’ve been hunting together for the better part of a decade. _Fuck_ , there’s no one living or dead we’ve spent more time with than each other. That should have earned me your trust.”

Sam was getting confused. “Earned you my trust? Did you miss what I told you?” Heat had branded Sam’s cheeks and he glared across the room at his brother. He’d expected Dean to be angry but being browbeaten for keeping his fucked-up thoughts to himself seemed insane.

“You almost died, Sam.” Dean’s arm whipped across in front of his body and the beer bottle flew past Sam’s shoulder and slammed into the wall behind him.

“Feel better?”

“ _Fuck_ you, Sam.” Dean turned and headed over to the small table in front of the window. He kicked one of the chairs out from the table but didn’t sit down on it.

When Sam pried his fingers off the quilt he could feel his hands shaking. He clasped them together for a few moments then stood. There wasn't going to be an easy resolution. Dean needed space and time - and Sam wasn’t even sure _that_ would help to resolve things. “I’ll get out of here.”

Sam walked to the end of the bed and pulled his duffle bag out from under it. For once, he was pleased that they were rarely anywhere long enough to unpack.

“What are you doing?” Dean’s voice was thick.

“Taking off. I get the anger, man. I do.” Sam’s voice wavered and he coughed as he tried to fight down the emotion that was choking him. He picked up his jacket and stuffed it into his bag.

“No, you’re not,” Dean almost growled.

When Sam turned towards his brother’s voice, he was grabbed by his shoulders, pushed back a few steps and slammed _so_ hard against the door that all the air shot out of his lungs.

When he finally managed to suck in a breath, Sam let his head thump back against the door. His heart was thumping so hard that the wounds on his wrists were throbbing. He could feel each pulse and the pain felt deserved. “What do you want from me?”

Dean’s hands slid forward to grab the front of Sam’s shirt. He pulled him forwards only to slam him back against the door again. “Don’t you _dare_ leave.”

“You’re angry. This-”

“Don’t leave me,” Dean yelled. It was so loud and so full of pain that it lingered in the room like smoke.

Eyes wide, Sam hung there, practically held up by his brother’s strong grip. His lips parted but he’d run out of words that made sense.

“Don’t leave me now that I know,” Dean said so quietly it was almost a whisper.

Sam’s heart fluttered and when Dean reached up Sam flinched. He squeezed his eyes shut and steeled himself for the punch he’d been expecting since the moment Dean had walked through the door.

Rough fingers slid onto Sam’s cheek gently, following the line of his cheekbone.

For a while, Sam just concentrated on breathing. A shiver of guilty pleasure rippled down his body as he felt the breath Dean exhaled on his lips. He didn’t want to open his eyes. He didn't want to have to face the look of betrayal that would be on Dean’s face.

“Sammy? Look at me.” The timbre of Dean’s voice made Sam shiver, but he opened his eyes.

Those green eyes he knew so well met Sam’s gaze immediately. They were beautiful, softened by the expression of warmth on Dean’s face. A single tear kissed the apple of Dean’s cheek before sliding down into the stubble along his jaw. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Of all the questions Sam had imagined he might be asked, _that_ hadn’t occurred to him. His brow furrowed as he tried to make sense of it. “Dean. I. Even with everything that’s happened, I know how wrong it is. How wrong _I_ am.”

It was the best Sam could do. The warmth of Dean’s fingers on his face was making his mind whip back and forth between hope and fear. It was an uncomfortable place. _Hope_ had always left Sam broken and disillusioned.

Dean’s lashes fell to his cheeks for a few moments and when he looked up once more, his eyes were bright and intense. “Do you really think I’ve kept you close all these years because Dad told me to?”

Sam hadn't really thought about it. When they were kids, it made sense. Sam was the weak link. Even as an adult, Sam had been the unknown quantity in so many situations. He had no words to tell Dean how sorry he was about the past so he just shrugged a shoulder.

“When you wanted to go to college…”

Sam nodded.

“What if I had told you I wanted you to stay?”

It was a scenario that Sam had played out in his mind time and time again. He’d wanted Dean to stop him. He’d wanted Dean to show up in the Impala, tell him to come along. They’d go off together in his mind. He had wanted his phone to ring while he was on the bus and for Dean to tell him he was on his way to pick him up.

None of that had happened; of course, it hadn’t. Dean wasn’t as fucked up as Sam was. “I would have stayed.”

A sad smile crept onto Dean’s lips. “That’s why I didn’t ask, Sam. I wanted you to get away from me… from the way I was. The way I felt about you.”

Eyes widening slightly, Sam tilted his head as the words spun around in his mind. “You about me?”

It wasn’t making sense. The hope in Sam’s mind was trying to wriggle free of the tenuous grip he had on it. No, there was too much at stake. Sam couldn’t risk losing Dean completely.

Then Dean was in motion again. His lips pressed to Sam’s so quickly he almost didn’t understand what was happening. It was surprisingly gentle, like an accidental touch. Sam gasped, closed his eyes and felt his legs almost buckle under him.

Dean pressed his body closer. His hand slid along Sam’s jaw, fingers curling around his neck. He leaned up slightly and caught Sam’s bottom lip between his own before withdrawing slightly.

Sam could feel the warmth of Dean’s breath below the smolder from the kiss. And, even through his clothes, he could sense the solid heat of his brother’s body.

His heart was pounding so hard and fast that Sam felt light-headed. _A kiss_. For years he’d avoided imagining what that might feel like. Dean’s lips, so plush and full, pressed to his own.

Sam lost track of how long they stood there, breathing the same air, body heat bleeding together between them.

“Sam?” Dean’s voice wavered slightly, betraying that he was as uncertain as Sam. Maybe even more so. He was the older brother. It was his job to show Sam the ropes, to try and keep him out of trouble.

Pleasure and anticipation surged up inside Sam and he lunged forward. He crushed his mouth over Dean’s, slid one arm around his brother’s waist, grabbed a handful of Dean’s jacket with the other hand.

Dean stumbled back, both hands making their way into Sam’s hair. His perfect lips parted for Sam, an invitation that Sam accepted greedily.

As they fell down onto the bed, Sam slipped his tongue past his brother’s smooth teeth. He moaned as he tasted his brother. It was heady, dizzying; it was like coming home and being fired out of a canon.

None of the daydreams and momentary flashes of fantasy had prepared Sam for what it felt like to be kissing Dean. The heat that was seeping into his bones would turn him to ash if he let it. And, he was willing to let it.

They were too tall, too substantial for the double bed and were tangled together uncomfortably. Dean’s legs felt hard, muscular against Sam’s. His grip on Sam’s long hair was unyielding. But, for the first time in his life, Sam felt as though he was in the right place. There with someone who could break him to pieces.

Still reeling from the surprise twist of fate, Sam felt a little lost. His hand slid down from Dean’s shoulder, over his ribs and gripped the loose denim at his brother’s hip. Dean was all taut muscle, sharp angles and stubble. He was everything that no one else in his life had ever been to him. His hands felt perfect on Dean’s shoulder, on his hip, pressed against his jaw.

Their mouths moved together, slowly at first, then building in speed and intensity. All of Dean’s strength made shivers dance down Sam’s flesh. That was what he’d always missed, the infuriating ease with which Dean could pin him to the mattress, guide everything, choose whichever parts of Sam’s body he wanted to claim.

The first touch of Dean’s fingers to the bare flesh of Sam’s belly sent him over the edge of belief. Dean was his. Dean wanted _him_.

_Dean._

His brother’s name ran through his head on repeat. His lips chased Dean’s, his heart thumped almost painfully.

 _Dean_.

-=-=-=-

Later, still mostly clothed, they lay close together on the bed. Sam was lying on his side, head propped up on one arm.

He couldn’t stop staring at Dean’s face. It felt as though it should look different. But, it looked the same. There was an almost-imperceptible smirk on his face even though his eyes were closed.  
“Are you awake?”

Dean nodded once. “Yeah.”

“You freaked out?”

“About you? No.”

“I meant about us.”

“Oh.”

A momentary flare of uncertainty burst to life in Sam’s chest. What if Dean had made a mistake? What if he’d changed his mind? Sam’s heart would split in half.

Dean cracked one eye open and peered at Sam. “You okay?”

Nodding, Sam shifted to get more comfortable. He forced himself to roll over onto his back so he wasn’t staring. “Yeah. M’good.”

“ _That_ ,” Dean said as he rolled over to face Sam. “Sounds like what you say when you think that’s what I want to hear.”

Sometimes, Dean surprised Sam.

Unable to look at his brother in the eyes, Sam looked at the anti-possession tattoo above his brother’s heart. “My whole life, I’ve been different, wrong. Always more broken that I should have been.”

Sam wasn’t even sure where the words came from. It was a painful confession, something he’d only ever kept to himself. That's the way he kept putting one foot in front of the other, taking each breath.

There was a frown on Dean’s face when he pushed up onto his elbow so he could peer down at Sam. “You can’t really think that.”

It was a statement, not a question. It was as though Dean had never thought, for a moment, that there was something irreparably broken within Sam.

A question burned in Sam’s throat, trying to claw its way free. He closed his eyes for a few moments, breathing slow and steady.

“What?”

Dean was _so_ close. Everything had changed. Sam tried to smile.

“Ever since you were a kid, I could always tell when you had something to say. Which is pretty much all the time.”

It was true. Even when Dean didn’t want to know what was going on in Sam’s mind, he almost always asked.

“Spill it.”

There was a knot of worry lodged in Sam’s throat. “This? Did this happen just because… I wanted it?”

Drawing back slightly, Dean frowned. “Seriously?”

“You, you don’t have to do this.” It was the only thing Sam could come up with. He could let his brother off the hook.

“You’re even more fucked up than me,” Dean said gruffly. He reached up and slid his thumb over Sam’s stubble-covered cheek. “I’ll say it a million damn times if I have to. For me? Nothing has ever come before you. Nothing ever will. I want this.”

Before Sam could protest further, Dean leaned down and kissed him again. It was soft, lingering, a period at the end of a declaration.

He was smiling when he drew back. “Did I do _that_ just because _you_ wanted it?”

Sam didn’t want to say it again, so he nodded.

“No, Sam. Because I want it.”

There wouldn’t be any further explanation. Dean, as always, would expect Sam to take him at his word.

“We good, Sammy?”

Sam’s lips curved into a smile as he nodded. For the first time in his entire life, he believed that things could be good.

It was a strange feeling.


	3. Chapter 3

-=-=-=- Six Months Later-=-=-=-

Sam was facing the flowery, old wallpaper on the walls of the dark motel room. Hands braced on the wall, shirt half off and hanging from one shoulder, jeans around his knees.

He couldn't see Dean, but he could _feel_ him. Dean’s nails were digging into Sam’s hips. Each time he thrust his hips forward, his thick cock slid deeper into Sam.

It burned and throbbed. Sam panted through the worst of the dull pain as his body stretched to accommodate Dean.

His throat was aching, the vines of pleasure twisting so tightly around him that it was difficult to breathe.

The buckle on Dean’s belt was cold and sharp against Sam’s ass each time he thrust forward. They’d barely managed to tumble through the door before they were on each other. Some hunts made them desperate. Desperate for proof of life, needing the heat of flesh and the grip of familiar hands.

Sam let out a long moan as Dean adjusted his hips and slammed into his sweet spot. His vision faded for a moment as pleasure crackled through his body. His arms gave out and he fell against the wall.

Dean was crushed against his brother’s back for a few moments. He tangled his fingers in Sam’s hair, yanking to pull Sam’s head back. As soon as Sam’s throat was exposed, Dean slid his free hand up to it and held on.

It was tight enough that Sam felt claimed and a fresh wave of desire rippled through his body.

“You’re mine, Sammy.”

Dean’s lips moved against the back of Sam’s ear, his voice rough and low. It was theirs to know, their secret, their safe place away from the rest of the world.

Hips pounding against Sam’s ass once more, Dean dragged his hand down along Sam’s arm, to his hip and then familiar fingers were wrapping around Sam’s cock. It didn’t matter how many times they touched each other, it never would, Sam could never get enough.

Sam tried to muster up some words, he really did. But, all that happened was he moaned his brother’s name.

Dean sank his teeth into the meat of Sam’s shoulder and the pain tripped a switch somewhere deep inside Sam. Before he could even inhale, he was coming. The pulsing of his orgasm made his chest tighten and his knees go weak.

Just as Sam felt his legs give way, he felt the sweat-slick slide of Dean’s arm across his chest.  
Dean held his brother steady, snapped his hips forward one final time and cried out against Sam’s aching shoulder.

It was always a blur to Sam: the time _after_. It was the time he loved the most, the time when Dean seemed softer around the edges.

After a while, they disentangled their limbs, and staggered back to the bed furthest from the door. Dean took the left side of the bed so he could have his right hand near the colt under his pillow.

Sam didn’t even know where the nearest weapon was. He didn’t care because he didn’t have to. Smirking, he poured himself onto the bed and settled at Dean’s side. He kicked free of his jeans and managed to wrestle himself out of the rest of his shirt before collapsing.

He couldn’t help admiring his brother’s body. It was one of the rare times he could do it without Dean striking a ridiculous pose to provoke an eye roll from Sam.

Dean’s lashes were dark against his flushed cheeks. His sweat-damp hair was tousled into small peaks. What Sam loved most was the sheen that covered Dean’s chest. But there was also the dark rose of his nipples, the left with two freckles on it. There was the way his hand rested on the slight softness of his belly. All the familiar scars that meant _we were there together when that happened_.

“Stop staring,” Dean muttered without opening his eyes.

Sam huffed a weak laugh and rested his cheek against Dean’s chest. This was the time he got away with that too. “Tired.”

“Not surprised,” Dean said after a long sigh.

“Where we goin’ tomorrow?” It wasn’t so much that Sam cared, he just wasn’t sure how long he’d get to sleep. He wasn’t sure if he should get up and shower.

“Doesn’t matter.” Dean nudged at Sam’s head until he could get his arm under it. He pulled Sam closer, a firm grip on his shoulder.

It _didn’t_ matter.

Sam smiled.


End file.
